Jack McKain for COMPLEX / July 2025

Your clients range from high-profile superstars like Anthony Edwards, Michael B. Jordan, and Billie Eilish to more indie and low-key talent like Nick Hakim, Pink Siifu, and Knxwledge. How have you been able to carve out such a wide range of talent and subjects?

My career has unfolded very organically over the past decade. It’s all rooted in real relationships and mutual respect. Things really gained momentum in 2016 when I moved into a photo studio in the heart of downtown LA. I used to host these open studio sessions where all kinds of artists would come to work on their craft: photographers, models, painters, designers, musicians. Collaborations would form with whoever was around. These would sometimes last all day and all night until the sun came up.

The space became a revolving door for people from all walks of life. I used to meet people on the street and bring them upstairs to shoot portraits. One day I’d be with someone who lived in a tent on Skid Row, and the next day I’d be with an A-list celebrity. It always felt personal because the studio was also my home. I never received any formal training for photography, but my time there taught me the technical art of shooting in studio and the human art of being present with people.

I crossed paths with each of the people you mentioned in completely different ways. Some I met through a friend, some through a chance encounter, some through a label or agency. Pink Siifu came through the studio in the early days, and he introduced me to Nick Hakim shortly after. Regardless of anybody’s fame or status, I try to build a connection between us before the cameras come out. That approach has drawn a wide range of people into my world.

What are the most signature elements of your photo practice?

Presence is key. My aim is to bring us to a place where time doesn’t exist, even just for a moment. When I work with artists, my shoots are very immersive, sometimes lasting multiple days. I’ve done week-long shoots where we spend every moment together deep in nature, or in an unfamiliar city. The lines between photoshoot and real life start to blur, which allows us to find where the artist persona and the artist’s true self meet. When they lose their awareness of the camera and are truly present, that’s the moment I’m seeking. This type of experience can be transformative for how an artist sees themselves and presents themselves to their audience.

For many of the musicians I work with, their artistry extends beyond music. It’s how they dress, how they interact with people, how they move through the world. Some of the strongest images come from candid real-life moments rather than pre-planned concepts. Sometimes I direct the scene, but more often I wait for something honest to emerge. It’s not always possible to work like that, and commercial shoots often have tighter parameters, but my best work is created when things unfold naturally and there are no time restrictions.

What’s your earliest photo memory?

One of my earliest memories in life was finding my dad’s Sony Hi8 camcorder in a drawer. I must’ve been five or six years old. I was immediately captivated by it. I read a book called Mastery by Robert Greene a few years ago, and the first chapter really stuck with me. He wrote that if you’re searching for your purpose, think about what you were drawn to as a child. Childhood fascinations can be like a compass pointing in the direction of our life paths. I didn’t know it at the time, but that moment of discovery shaped my entire life.

What is your most essential piece of equipment?

My set of Pentax 67s. I’ve owned Mamiyas, Hasselblads, Nikons, Canons... but there’s something different about Pentax glass. It’s the perfect combination of softness and sharpness. The downside is that the winders can be very fragile, so I always keep two on me. A few years ago I was in Colombia for a six-day shoot, and one of my 67s broke on the first day. That’s the risk that comes with shooting on cameras that were made before I was born.

Walk me through the conceptualization of this cover shoot for Clipse. What were your motifs and references?

The majority of my work isn’t conceptual. It’s emotion, carried by light, color, and texture. My intention wasn’t to illustrate a specific concept, but to evoke the feeling of brotherhood, conveyed through body language and expression. We used technical references to guide the crew on lighting and set design, but I avoid using direct references to existing images in my work. Our current visual landscape is overly referential as it is. I have no interest in making derivative work that lacks its own spirit. My path to originality is keeping things loose, leaving room for experimentation, and following my intuition on set.

Take me back to the day of this cover. What were you feeling? What stuck with you?

I’m from Virginia, so this one felt full circle for me. We listened to the entire Clipse discography during the shoot, it brought me right back to the lunch table in 7th grade. Don’t sleep on Virginia, so much musical talent has emerged from there. Pharrell. Timbaland. Clipse. Missy. D’Angelo! Much love to Gina and the team at Complex for trusting me with this cover.

Your photo work really embraces depth and rich natural color. Any particular influences or inspirations behind that style?

Most of my inspiration comes from early 2000s print media. When I was a kid, we didn’t have cable TV or video games in the house. No MTV to watch music videos. Smartphones and streaming weren’t around yet. I had stacks of magazines and CDs, that was it. I used to listen to music and read album booklets religiously, and I was obsessed with skate magazines. I would read the interviews a hundred times and study the visuals every night before bed. It was like a personal ritual for me.

I don’t have many contemporary influences. I think stepping away from the screen is its own kind of influence. Staring at endless feeds robs you of momentary boredom, which is fertile ground for creativity. There was something special about growing up right before the internet became ubiquitous. The lack of constant stimulation was such a creative catalyst for me. When I was ten years old, playing with cameras was just a coping mechanism for being bored out of my mind.

Nowadays when I’m out of ideas, I try to bring myself back to that place. I starve myself of all input for days, just to see where my mind goes. I think the most inspiring thing you can do is turn your phone off and go outside until you forget what time it is.